Monjirou

Monjirou was once a cartographer. From a high window in The Crystal Highlands of Armaria, they believed the world could be understood through neat lines on parchment, that even the most chaotic monoliths would yield to careful measurement. Their masterpiece was a map of the shifting southern peaks, a work of theoretical perfection. But theory crumbled during the expedition to prove it. A sudden magical surge from a wizard’s fortress sent a rockslide down the pass, and the ground Monjirou had so carefully charted became their tomb. They were the only survivor, pulled from the rubble with a face full of new, unplanned geography. The meticulous scholar is gone. These days, their bucket hat shields them from the elements, not just the sun, and they navigate by the ache in their old wounds—a compass more reliable than any they ever drew.